


Goddammit

by un-shit-yourself (fenix_down), winebearcat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Biting, Cousincest, Flirting, Gratuitous Sexual Tension, Grinding, M/M, Makeouts, Rivalry, Unapologetic Self-Indulgence, oc kiss week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:38:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenix_down/pseuds/un-shit-yourself, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winebearcat/pseuds/winebearcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as part of OC Kissing Week 2016, matching <a href="http://winebearcat.tumblr.com">winebearcat's</a> Rylan Amell with <a href="http://un-shit-yourself.tumblr.com">un-shit-yourself's</a> Krasny Hawke. Watch these two assholes strut around each other like peacocks until the inevitable happens. Witness what happens when winey and USY join forces. Hide yo mages, hide yo elves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goddammit

**Author's Note:**

> [7:17:24 PM] USY: WHOOPS  
> [7:17:31 PM] winey: WELP  
> [7:17:38 PM] USY: *shrugs self back into the dumpster*  
> [7:17:46 PM] winey: lmfao  
> [7:17:48 PM] winey: TRASH  
> [7:17:53 PM] winey: fucking trash god  
> [7:18:38 PM] USY: it's cos these fuckers can't let the other have the last word  
> [7:18:44 PM] winey: this is gonna be like 1800 words of hot crack

It’s late in the evening at the Amell estate, and Krasny is still awake, looking over the mass of correspondence on his desk in his study, because he can’t sleep. His mother had held another gathering of nobility, and had again included his second cousin Rylan Amell in the invitations, and he’d had to deal with _that_ all night. The man was infuriatingly stuck-up and arrogant, walking around with his head high and a cocked eyebrow like he knew he was hot shit, which was part of the problem; Rylan _was_ hot shit. He and Rylan had been trading barbs and heated glances and smirks all evening, and Krasny is both annoyed and aroused from the hours spent simmering in tension. He’s trying in vain to pay attention to the words on the letter in his hand, but all he can think of is Rylan’s condescending smile and his icy blue gaze.

Rylan meanwhile saunters along the dimly lit hallway, bright eyes flicking across the high ceilings and back down to the carpeted sprawl lain out by Leandra Amell. _Hawke_ , he corrects himself bitterly, scoffing at the gauche selection and idly palming his warmed glass of bourbon. He brings it to his lips, wrenching his appraisal away from such a monstrosity, only for it to land on the door nestled in the far right corner. Soft candlelight bleeds through the crack below and he furrows his brow, considering both the late hour and who could possibly be occupying the study due to such.

He strides forward, pressing his scarred palm against the thick slab of wood to creak it open. It swings open easily, thudding upon the wall to announce his arrival, and he instinctively scowls as he beholds his cousin hunched over the mahogany desk.

“I’m surprised you even know how to read,” he quips readily, slicing through the air with a refined degree of haughtiness.

Krasny, to his credit, doesn’t jump at the sudden intrusion; he doesn't even look up to acknowledge the man’s presence, because he knows it’ll infuriate him. He still curses silently over his luck, part of him hoping his cousin will get bored and wander off somewhere else to give his disapproval to everything in his environment. "I know how to do a lot of things that would surprise you," he says simply, his eyes drifting across the parchment but not actually reading.

Rylan rolls his eyes and stops at the desk, perching himself on the edge and crossing one leg over the other. Their thighs brush briefly and the necromancer smirks, observing as Krasny visibly tightens his jaw. “Speaking of action, or lack thereof,” he begins, pulling from his drink with an arched brow, “what _are_ you doing?”

"Unlike you, I have actual work to do and people that need my help.” Krasny darts a glance to the side, scowling at the sight of Rylan’s crisp formal suit and the regal way he holds himself. He leans forward against the desk, arching his back to stretch from sitting slumped for an hour, his thumb grazing the edge of the parchment.

"Remarkable that people actually rely on you," Rylan derides, gaze slipping down Krasny’s spine as he straightens his posture. With an uninterested sigh, he drains the final droplets of his glass and sets it down on the scattered paperwork with a thud.

Krasny glares at the offending glass, then offers a crooked grin. The mage is obviously not going to leave him alone, and so he decides to change his tactics. He sets the letter down on the desk, ignoring the crystalware and Rylan’s proximity, and brings his hands to his long auburn hair, undoing the tie that holds his half-ponytail and letting it fall loose around his shoulders. He sighs softly and runs his fingers through it, leaning back with his legs stretched under the desk. "Well, maybe if you had some actual skills mixed in with your good looks, you'd get fancy letters too."

Rylan instinctively snorts, though his eyes stray to the auburn curtain of hair that slips down to Krasny’s shoulders. His gaze lingers for a half-second too long before yanking it toward the far wall, and he silently curses himself for his indiscretion. The dolt _is_ attractive, only amplified by the biting warmth of bourbon in his belly, and he crosses his arms subconsciously.

“Cocky,” he coos, actively drinking in the perimeter of the study, “though I was an Enchanter at Kinloch. I read my fair share of mind-numbing correspondence.”

"Yeah, and what did you enchant?” Krasny asks, giving him a smirk and eyeing Rylan’s sharp features while the mage isn’t looking. He winds a strand of hair around his finger, as if bored, pleased at having caught the way those eyes lingered on him.

"A number of men and women." Rylan's lips unfurl with a serpentine smile.

Even Krasny has to admit that was a good comeback, but he doesn’t let it show. "I think your technique is getting rusty," he says, nonchalantly.

"How so?" he arches his brow, sweeping his gaze back to meet Krasny’s.

"I don't find you enchanting in the slightest.” He can’t help but grin, looking at Rylan cheekily, tempted to put his arms behind his head and pose with his feet on the desk, but deciding instead to shrug and make a show of explicitly _not_ checking him out.

Rylan lowers the eyebrow as his mouth twists into a contemptuous sneer. "You have poor taste. I'm unsurprised," he retorts.

Krasny’s grin turns feral, and he stands quickly, moving effortlessly to his feet and kicking aside the chair behind him, getting so close into Rylan’s personal space that he can smell whatever expensive soap he uses. There’s a faintly recognizable hint of blood underneath the scent, and Krasny can’t pretend he doesn’t want to search for that metallic sharpness on Rylan’s skin.  "I have excellent taste, I'm just not fond of mouthy little shits with more bark than bite."

Rylan grins wickedly, baring two rows of whetted teeth as he snarls: "You have no idea how hard I can bite, Hawke."

"Show me then, if you have the balls." Krasny’s voice is darker, almost a purr, his gaze flicking down to Rylan’s mouth and back up to those clear eyes.

A guttural sound rips out from Rylan’s throat as he lunges forward to close the few inches between them, pressing the tips of their noses together. “Show you _what_?” he growls, eyes blazing as they challenge Krasny’s hooded gaze. He fists a hand in the man’s tunic, knuckles whitening, and he suckles a harsh breath at the belated realization of their proximity.  

"Your bite, _cousin._ " He doesn’t think of using the emphasis as a deterrent, far from it; he says it in mock familiarity, because he’s already quite aware of everything that Rylan hates with their handful of meetings, and familiarity is one of them. All Krasny wants to do now is get a proper rise out of him. If he couldn’t kill him, he may as well have some fun.

Rylan’s glower drops down to Krasny’s smirk, drinking in the curve of his mouth as his chest tightens. He senses the palpable shift in their dynamic, considering the tacit proposal now lain in the broiling space between them. “I don’t even know where this has been,” he scowls, drilling his stare into Krasny’s quirked lips.

"Why not think of where it could be, instead?" Krasny replies huskily. His hands move deftly to Rylan’s dress shirt, caressing the silk teasingly.

Rylan hitches a breath when Krasny’s fingers wander along his chest, goading yet exploratory, and he suddenly tucks a finger beneath the rogue’s bearded chin. He tilts it up roughly, piercing the five-inch difference between them with a lidded stare. “Where would you like to put it?” he purrs.

Krasny makes a mental note to refuse to stand on his toes to match Rylan; he’d much rather drag him down to his level. "What would shut you up quicker?" he asks, his fingers sliding up the expensive cloth leisurely, licking his lips and shifting imperceptibly on his feet as he takes note of the wall only a few feet away.

The necromancer grins haughtily and tightens his grip on Krasny’s chin. “A genuine surprise,” Rylan coos, ghosting a breath against his lips.

Krasny grins at the challenge and pins him to the wall behind them, fisting his hands in Rylan's shirt. "I knew you were all talk and no action," he purrs, and then crushes their lips together eagerly.

Rylan groans and screws his eyes shut, reaching a hand up to thread through Krasny’s locks as his lips part for the kiss. He swallows down the moan he earns, a low, throaty hum of approval that flares in his chest, and he submits beneath the strength and intent of the rogue. They meld against the other for a lick of a moment, until Rylan suddenly yanks Krasny’s head back, meeting a brief flash of grey surprise, before biting his bottom lip. _Hard_.

Krasny grits his teeth around a cry, his blood burning with the pain, and snarls, "You fucking _brat._ " And yet he refuses to back down, grinding his hardening cock against Rylan’s hip, twisting his fingers into the man’s expensive shirt and tugging roughly to bring him closer for another hard kiss, infinitely pleased when he hears the silk tear.

Rylan draws a harsh gasp, his own cock stirring against the heat and friction of rutting hips, and he claws at Krasny’s tunic with feral need. Ripping fabric, groans, and slick suckles fill his ears, driving his hand up to sink nails into the nape of the rogue’s neck. “Want another bite?” Rylan simpers wickedly, pulling off the kiss with swollen lips.

Krasny moans with the sharp sting against his skin, pressing hard against Rylan’s warm body. "Do I get to pick where?" he asks coyly, his hands moving down Rylan's chest to the waistband of his trousers, clever fingers caressing the smooth skin under his shirt.

“No,” he growls hungrily, tightening the grip in Krasny’s hair to tug his neck open with abrupt precision. He pounces, smothering the reverberating thrum of pleasure beneath warm lips and a laving tongue, suckling a trail up the rogue’s throat before sinking teeth into his hammering pulse.  

The onslaught has Krasny suddenly dizzy with need, groaning shamelessly and rocking harder against Rylan, his hands no longer teasing, sliding around the mage's narrow hips and under his waistband to clench his fingers into Rylan's firm ass in a desperate attempt to pull them closer. "That's more like it,” he pants, breathless.

“Mmmf,” Rylan thrums against his throat, raking along the bruising skin with harsh nips. He assuages each angry mark with the lap of his tongue, purring in scorching breaths as he grinds their hips together.

"Fuck, I like you much better when you're quiet," Krasny manages, thankful that he still has the mental capacity to talk back, despite how good the mage’s mouth feels on his skin. He digs his nails hard into Rylan's ass, then drags them up across his back slowly in rhythm with their hips.

“And you still haven’t shut the fuck up," Rylan grunts, pulling off Krasny’s spit-slick throat with a rasp. He clasps Krasny’s chin roughly again, wrenching his head up to pierce him with a carnal, disbelieving expression. Before either can speak, he crushes him in another stifling kiss, groaning as they slowly rut against the other.

If only he’d known earlier how rewarding it would be to tease his infuriating cousin, Krasny thinks, he’d have dragged the mage out of that fancy party by his hair. He relishes the slide of Rylan's wicked tongue against his own, but can't resist another jab. "Maybe you should try harder," Krasny murmurs against his lips, mouth quirked in a smile. 

Rylan grins manically and rips off the kiss, lifting a hand to shove two fingers between Krasny’s lips. They slide roughly inside his mouth, nudging the back of the rogue’s throat, and it earns the mage a gag and a moan that drills straight to his cock. Famished blue eyes fix upon grey, issuing the final challenge as Rylan quirks his brow with a lopsided smirk.

“Alright, Hawke, let’s see how busy that smart mouth can get.”


End file.
